


Floating on a Sheltered Sea

by peevee



Category: Temeraire - Naomi Novik
Genre: Blow Jobs, Frottage, M/M, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-11
Updated: 2020-06-11
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:14:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24662878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peevee/pseuds/peevee
Summary: “I would have had your mouth,” said Tharkay, bending over Laurence and murmuring into his ear. He pushed his thumb inside as he said it, and Laurence heard himself making a sound deep in his throat. “Such soft lips you have, Will, like the petals of an English rose. They would look well with my cockstand between them.”
Relationships: William Laurence/Tenzing Tharkay
Comments: 29
Kudos: 126





	Floating on a Sheltered Sea

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was mostly inspired by a discussion I had with a nonnie of good taste, who talked about Laurence being stoic and upright until the bitter end, whereupon he will go _all in_ on whatever decision he has made that goes against his previously established ideas of morality. 
> 
> In other words: get some, Laurence.

The renovation works proved to be a slow, laborious process with much fuss and a great many noxious smells. Walls were stripped back and repapered, the floors sanded and oiled to a gleaming shine, and every inch of woodwork was to be scrubbed and painted.

It was within this whirlwind of activity that Laurence found himself taking breakfast with Tharkay each morning, before the daily work had begun. They each sat at one end of the dining room table, a newspaper disassembled and spread between them, Laurence alert for mentions of Temeraire’s activities in the capital. Tharkay took honey cake, Laurence toast, a pot of strong black tea passed back and forth til it was empty. Laurence could only liken the feeling of these shared mornings to a port in a storm, the delicate whites and blues of the dining room only enhancing the sensation of floating on a sheltered sea. The sight of Tharkay, relaxed, glancing up at him with a smile and a greeting on his lips was like a balm upon his very soul. 

He was struck often by Tharkay’s generosity in opening his home to them. Temeraire was frequently absent, but Laurence felt as though he were some sort of spectre, drifting after Tharkay as he spoke to tradesmen, directed the construction works, settled this matter and that on the estate. Though Tharkay insisted he would only have languished idly alone, Laurence could not believe that a man of such worldly independence could require constant companionship.

“Would you not marry?” Laurence asked of him one evening, as they sat by the fire in the half-finished drawing room and shared a bottle of blood-red claret. The pale dust covers on the furniture gave the room a peculiar, eerie atmosphere in the low light.

“I no longer have any intention of taking a wife,” said Tharkay, his dark eyes gleaming in the firelight. “And you? Do you wish for a companion?”

Laurence had indeed thought upon the question, with little else to do than read and stew in his own thoughts. It was unfair of him to think of Edith, yet he did so, and thoughts of Jane only made him blush. The silence stretched between them as he failed to respond, and still Tharkay only sipped his wine and waited for Laurence to answer. 

It seemed too intimate, to confess the growing thought that he could be content with what they already had. With their quiet breakfasts, the day-to-day matters of the estate, Temeraire’s reports on the comings and goings of parliament upon his weekly return. 

“I do not desire further companionship,” he said eventually, feeling even as the words settled that it was not quite what he had been meaning to say. “Unless you would be rid of me, of course. Then I am sure I might find a wealthy dowager suffering from loneliness to take me in.”

Tharkay laughed, and Laurence was reminded of the sun briefly emerging from a clouded sky. “Perhaps also blindness, if you intended to introduce Temeraire as your steed.”

“Ah, it seems my plan is not so well thought out after all.”

“I would not be rid of you, Will. And Temeraire would make a poor horse.”

“Certainly he would not suffer to be fed with only hay and oats,” said Laurence, feeling that great tenderness welling up within his breast. Their chairs faced each other by the fire, pulled close together so that they both might benefit from it's warmth and Laurence felt himself drawn in further by the way the firelight played upon Tharkay’s face. His tie, usually arranged in a crisp Mathematical, was hanging loose about his neck, his glossy black hair cut fashionably short and swept over his brow. Laurence leaned forwards and clasped a hand upon his shoulder. 

“I am so very glad of your friendship, Tenzing,” he said. Perhaps he was being a little sentimental; wine often went straight to his head. Nevertheless, he let the touch linger, heat bleeding through Tharkay’s shirt and waistcoat to the palm of his hand. 

“Will,” said Tharkay, his voice low, eyes sliding closed. His fingers, rough with scars, came up to clasp Laurence’s wrist, and Laurence breathed in sharply in surprise at the warmth that flooded him.

“I -," he stammered, withdrawing his arm with shocked swiftness. Tharkay released him easily. 

"I should retire, and sleep off this wine. I - my apologies." He stood and brushed down his breeches needlessly, suddenly full of a great nervous energy. "Good night, Tenzing.”

“Good night,” said Tharkay flatly. He turned back towards the fire and took his glass to his lips. Laurence’s gaze lingered on his profile for a moment, his thin mouth and proud arched nose.

He stumbled to his room almost in a daze, and sat on the edge of his bed. He had not thought - had not had an inkling that Tharkay might… he rested his face in his open palms, trying to order his thoughts and slow his thumping heart. Perhaps, he thought rather wildly, perhaps it was nothing at all. His regard for Tharkay was simply echoed by his friend, feelings of loyalty and fellowship tangled as they were. He had known ladies of the _ton_ who clasped hands in friendship, and kissed each other upon the cheek as a greeting. 

Laurence felt his face flush hot as he imagined pressing his mouth to Tharkay’s fine jaw. In _friendship_. He could admit to himself that he burned with wanting it, and of shame from the wanting, for the feeling was not friendly at all. The echo of Tharkay’s fingers on his bare wrist lingered.

As he waited for his breath to come evenly, he recalled with some shock that he had just fled like a coward from his dearest friend. That had been badly done indeed. He smoothed his hair back into his queue and went to the door, intending to return to the drawing room and apologise for his conduct, and hope that he had not damaged their friendship beyond repair.

When he pulled the door open, he was faced with Tharkay, hand raised as if to knock. 

“Tenzing,” he said, at once, “I am dreadfully sorry -”

“You have nothing to apologise for,” Tharkay interrupted him with uncharacteristic rudeness. “The fault is mine, I have badly overstepped.” His voice was as sharp as cut glass.

“No!” said Laurence, surprised by the vehemence of the word even as he spoke. “I was simply… taken by surprise.” 

Tharkay grimaced, and Laurence stepped closer to him unconsciously. Though his own thoughts were still in turmoil, he could not bear to see that expression on Tharkay’s face. He raised his hand, slowly, and placed it again upon Tharkay’s shoulder. Tharkay glanced down at it and back up to his face, still frowning.

“I - Tenzing,” Laurence said, “I hold you in the utmost… the very highest regard.”

Tharkay’s expression began to close off, and dash it, Laurence was a damned fool. How wooden he sounded! _The highest regard_. 

Laurence held his grip firm on Tharkay, and regarded his dear face for a long moment. Looking at him was becoming a new sort of addiction, and Christ, wasn’t that how he had once thought of Little and Granby’s engagement? How thick-headed he had been. How blind. Laurence gathered his courage. Wasn’t it absurd to be so wrought up when his friend stood before him, a kindness upon his lips? He leaned forward slowly, alert for any sign that Tharkay would leap away from him, and ever so gently brushed a chaste kiss to his cheek. 

He pulled back, his heart thumping so heavily that he thought it must be audible in the quiet corridor. Tharkay’s eyes searched his face, his expression unreadable. 

“You did not overstep,” said Laurence. 

“I see,” said Tharkay. He brought his hand up to his face and gently touched the spot that Laurence had kissed. Had _kissed_ , Christ. He trembled, snared like a rabbit in a trap. Tharkay caught his gaze, held it, and then his eyes flicked to Laurence’s mouth. Laurence knew what was going to happen, and he could not stop it. God, he felt aflame to his bones with wanting it. 

Tharkay kissed him. 

It was not the chaste kiss that Laurence had given him, that gentle token of affection. This could not be mistaken for mere admiration or friendship. His mouth was hot and firm, sour with wine but opening so easily against Laurence that he might have swooned, were his hands not still firmly gripping Tharkay’s shoulders. He returned the kiss, hesitantly at first, then more boldly, sliding one arm around Tharkay’s neck and pulling them together, and into the safety of his rooms. 

“Christ, Will,” said Tharkay, pulling back as Laurence closed the door, then bowing their heads together. “You have driven me to distraction.” 

“I -” Laurence said. “You have not seemed… distracted.”

“I had not thought - I...” Tharkay kissed him again, seeming to lose his train of thought even as he did so. “I must have been half-mad when I extended my hand for you to stay here, to think I would survive it.”

Laurence flushed. “I… if I cause any imposition, I must insist that -”

“Hush. The only imposition has been my affections. Which I had not imagined you could possibly return.”

“I am ashamed to admit that I have had very little understanding of my… ah. My regard for you,” said Laurence. “And now that you have so succinctly pointed it out, as you very often do, I feel quite the fool.”

“You are no fool, Will.”

“Blind, then. When I woke each morning in anticipation of gazing upon your face, or of provoking you to a smile that seemed to me like a sunrise.”

“God, Will. When you say such things, I - you unman me.”

Laurence trailed his fingers from Tharkay’s finely shaped ear along the line of his jaw, struck with something like awe that he was permitted to do so. Tharkay’s eyes were wide, his expression open as his gaze travelled hungrily over Laurence’s face and landed on his mouth. Laurence’s hand slid to the back of his head to grip his silky hair, and he opened his mouth wantonly to Tharkay’s tongue. He was gripped with a wildness he hadn’t felt since he was a boy, a rough sort of need that sent his teeth scraping over Tharkay’s lip as they parted.

 _“Christ_ ,” said Tharkay. His hair was wild from Laurence’s hands, his eyes glassy. “You- _ah_ ,” and Laurence kissed him again, pushed him back against the door to feel every inch of his lean, warm body, and the firm line of his prick hard against his thigh.

“Oh,” he said, “you’re -”

Tharkay’s head fell back against the door with a soft thump, and he looked at Laurence through the lowered sweep of his eyelashes. “You had me at a stand with a simple touch to my shoulder,” he said, wry. “I am only moderately ashamed to admit it. Lord, look at you. My beauty.”

Heat swept through Laurence’s body, from the admission, and that… that Tharkay thought him beautiful. _Christ_. It was almost inconceivable, that Tharkay could think in such ways about him. 

“Will,” Tharkay said, gentling their kisses like he was calming a nervous horse. “Can I assume that you have never…” he trailed off delicately, “with a man?”

“I have never once thought of it,” said Laurence, “aside from wondering at the foolishness of men who would risk their lives for such an indulgence. Is that so very blind of me?”

“Only a little,” Tharkay said, smiling. He slid agile fingers up the sides of Laurence’s waistcoat. “And do you wonder at our foolishness, now?”

“Only that it has taken me so long, to taste your mouth,” he said, before leaning forward to capture the tempting bow of his upper lip, sipping at their mingled breaths. He was very aware of the hard press of Tharkay against his thigh, and of his own stand, which Tharkay could no doubt feel pushing urgently against him. He had only shapeless ideas of how two men might come together, and he blushed to think of them even as he pushed himself shamelessly against Tharkay’s thigh. 

“Will,” Tharkay gasped, “will you let me bed you?”

“Oh, Christ,” said Laurence, head swimming. “I may need some instruction.”

Tharkay grasped him firmly by the hips and maneuvered the two of them to Laurence’s bed. Laurence’s own fingers proved useless in trying to remove his waistcoat and breeches, and in the end he allowed himself to be pushed backwards and attended to by Tharkay. He was reminded of dressing Tharkay in his own imperial robes to fool Kutuzov, a strange mirror of their former positions.

“Do you recall when I acted as your valet, in Russia?”

Tharkay paused in the pulling of one of Laurence’s Hessians from his foot. “I shall not easily forget the sight of you kneeling at my feet, Will. Acting the dutiful obedient as you attended me.”

At the time, it had felt perfectly innocent, but the way Tharkay spoke had Laurence flushing yet again. He let himself imagine it, that alternate world in which Tharkay was a prince, Laurence his devoted man.

“And how would you have had me attend you, your grace?”

Tharkay abandoned his task, leaving Laurence half-undressed to crawl over him. His eyes were very dark. He braced himself on one hand and brought the other up to Laurence’s mouth to run his thumb over Laurence’s lower lip. Just this simple touch had him straining in his breeches, which Tharkay had not yet fully removed, though they were at least unbuttoned. 

“I would have had your mouth,” said Tharkay, bending over Laurence and murmuring into his ear. He pushed his thumb inside as he said it, and Laurence heard himself making a sound deep in his throat. “Such soft lips you have, Will, like the petals of an English rose. They would look well with my cockstand between them.”

Laurence pulled his mouth from Tharkay’s thumb. “God, _Tenzing_ -”

They pulled apart to wrench themselves out of the rest of their clothing, Tharkay’s elegantly cut coat and trousers thrown as carelessly as rags onto the floor. Tharkay reclined against the pillows, unselfconscious in his nudity as Laurence drank his fill. Parts of him were a patchwork of scars; his hands, of course, but the smooth brown skin of his arms and his upper chest was also broken up by the distinctive scattered marks of canister shrapnel. His prick jutted up lewdly over his belly, dark pink at the tip and wet with desire. As Laurence watched, he gripped it in one hand and gave it a slow, deliberate stroke. 

Laurence had never touched another man intimately, yet he was all of a sudden consumed with the need to have Tharkay in his mouth as he had described. He could not quite bring himself to speak the desire aloud, but he moved to the bed and sat next to Tharkay’s legs, hand trembling only a little as he smoothed a path up one firm thigh. There was absolutely no mistaking that he was bedding a man. His legs were surprisingly hirsute, given the lack of hair on his chest, and they were long and rangy with muscle. He spread them at Laurence’s attention, and Laurence could no longer resist leaning down to kiss the tender inner part of his thigh.

“What a sight you are,” Tharkay murmured. 

“Tenzing, tell me,” Laurence slid himself down on his elbows, faced with a stiff prick that twitched at his attentions. He twisted, ungainly, to kiss it. “How do I… that is, please -”

“Christ,” said Tharkay. “Yes, beg me.”

“Please, tell me what to do. I want -” he swallowed thickly, “I want you so very much.”

Tharkay slid his hand down his belly to grip his stand at the base and tip it up towards Laurence’s mouth. 

“Come here. And raise yourself up,” he said. “You will find it easier that way.” 

Laurence adjusted himself, bracketing his hands astride Tharkay’s hips.

“Open your mouth. Yes, like that. You can kiss - _oh_ -”

The taste was mild, somewhat salty. Not unlike a woman’s sex, but there was a sense of invasion that he had not experienced before. Tharkay was not by any means using him roughly, in fact he was holding himself almost perfectly still and trembling with the effort, yet there was the persistent pressure against his tongue making him swallow, requiring him to breathe through his nose. He moved his tongue, sucked a little, swallowed, then pulled off again to kiss at the rounded tip.

Tharkay was oddly silent apart from laboured breaths, and Laurence glanced up to his face only to see an expression of pure wonder directed back at him. 

“Is it to your liking?” he asked, bold enough to tease upon seeing such openness.

“Will. _Fuck_. I would thank you to come up here, so that I do not embarrass myself.”

He let his legs fall apart wider, and opened his arms for Laurence to fall into his embrace. There they stayed for some moments while Laurence adjusted to the feel of Tharkay’s body pressed to his. He was softer than Laurence might have expected, despite the hardness of his muscles, the roughness of his scars. Laurence kissed him again, feeling that every moment he was not tasting that tempting mouth was a moment wasted. He adjusted his grip, pressing Tharkay against the bed. Tharkay allowed it at first, pliant as Laurence took his mouth, but soon began to push back against him, trying to flip their positions until they were wrestling like boys and laughing too.

Laurence was bigger, but Tharkay more cunning, and willing to employ underhand tactics such as applying his mouth freely to Laurence’s sensitive neck. 

“How I have longed to taste you here,” he murmured. Laurence, pinned beneath him, could only tip his head back and breathe harshly. “You have no idea how tempting… when you would come to me of an evening, half-undressed. Your throat exposed.”

The boyish energy of their wrestling soon found itself redirected. Lined up together, Tharkay ground down into him, face intent. Laurence’s hands found their way to the firm round of his buttocks as he thrust, and was reminded so sharply of fucking that he could not contain a sound of shocked desperation. Tharkay was fucking him, here on his bed, cock slotted firmly into the crease of his hip and sliding against his belly. Without thinking, Laurence brought his knees up to bracket Tharkay’s ribs. 

“God, _yes_. I would have you like this,” Tharkay said roughly, taking hold of one of his knees to press it up. “Do you think you would like it?”

Laurence had not ever given much thought to the act itself. He felt almost speared open already, Tharkay’s weight bearing against him as they thrust against each other, his leg held pinned. He could hardly conceive-

“You would look so lovely on my cock,” said Tharkay, then kissed him before Laurence could respond, pushed down against him, and Laurence could not recall ever feeling so desperate for someone he was bedding. The skin of his belly felt tender, wet as it was with their combined ardor and the roughness of their coupling, and he felt compelled to warn Tharkay that he was nearing his peak with an unexpected rapidity.

“Tenzing,” he said, between fervent kisses, “I cannot, I am - _ah_ -”

“Will,” Tharkay breathed. He slid his hand down between their bellies to take hold of both of them, but it was too late; Laurence spent himself eagerly even as Tharkay’s warm fingers clasped them together. His own hands seized at Tharkay’s shoulders as his body shuddered through his crisis, Tharkay’s body anchoring him with an enveloping solidity. 

“Christ,” said Tharkay. “Look at you.” He pushed himself up with one hand and cast a bold eye over Laurence where he lay trembling with the receding tide of his pleasure. Laurence let his legs fall on either side of Tharkay’s hips, let his eyes slide down to where Tharkay’s hand was gripping his stand, gleaming wet with Laurence’s seed. He thought he had never seen anything quite so lewd as the slow drips of it that were sliding from Tharkay’s fingers onto his own belly.

He was gripped, suddenly, with the urgent desire to have Tharkay in his mouth once more. He grabbed at Tharkay’s thighs and pulled them, still unable to say the words aloud but wanting it so very badly, and Tharkay stumbled a little, letting go of himself to plant his hands on either side of Laurence’s head.

“I would,” said Laurence, on a swallow. “I would have you -” He tugged demonstratively at the backs of Tharkay’s thighs again. 

“I am filthy, Will,” Tharkay said lowly, even as he moved further up, up, til he was astride Laurence’s chest and so close that Laurence could smell the briny scent of him. “Are you quite sure you would - _fuck_ -”

The taste was tannic and mildly unpleasant, but the noise that spilled from Tharkay’s open mouth as Laurence slid his tongue curiously over the wet tip of his prick - _oh_! It was a raw, animalistic sound, and it reverberated through Laurence as if it had some physical form. He applied himself to his task, hoping to produce more such sweet sounds. He opened his mouth, but found that he could not take even half the length in before he felt a strong need to cough.

“Relax your jaw,” Tharkay said, strained. “And do not attempt to take me fully, Will. You are quite perfect exactly as you are, oh, _God_ -!”

Laurence looked up at him. Tharkay’s head was bowed, his arms braced against the carved headboard. His thighs trembled under Laurence’s hands, and Laurence felt an urgent pulse under his tongue. 

“Will,” Tharkay moaned, “Oh, my darling -” He shifted, attempting to pull back, but Laurence held him firmly, wanting all of him. Tharkay shuddered hard and, _oh_ , spilled on his tongue, that strong astringent taste flooding his senses as he coughed and swallowed, surrounded by his scent, his warmth. Tharkay’s mouth was on his almost immediately afterwards, fingers tugging at Laurence’s hair and causing even more disorder, but his tongue was soft and sweet-tasting.

He subsided, slowly, until they simply lay facing each other in the dwindling candlelight. Tharkay’s free hand drifted on Laurence’s bare hip. 

“I had never dreamed I could have this, with you,” he said. “Long though I have wanted it.”

Laurence blushed, to be so desired. “I am coming to realise that I have been quite ignorant.”

“Oh, you invariably make your way to the proper conclusion in the end,” said Tharkay, smiling.

“With your help? Always,” Laurence agreed. “Will you stay with me?”

Tharkay drew him close to kiss him soft upon the mouth. “Always.”


End file.
